


Moving in a Retrograde

by Capriccio



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Flash Fic, M/M, Memories, Memory Loss, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capriccio/pseuds/Capriccio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks about the man who does recognize him, the one whose face comes into sharp focus, brighter than all the rest among the shadows of his memories. The one who made him remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving in a Retrograde

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the TowerParty speed challenge for the prompt _Memories warm you from the inside. But they also tear you apart._ (Haruki Murakami)

He comes back to the river to stare at his reflection. Mirrors lie; water doesn’t. But the water moves too fast for him to see anything more than a blurry image of his face, one that he doesn’t recognize anyway.

He thinks about the man who does recognize him, the one whose face comes into sharp focus, brighter than all the rest among the shadows of his memories. The one who made him remember.

He doesn’t remember much, but that’s not the problem—it’s that he can’t forget.

*

_3._

The last thought Bucky had as he fell was _Don’t. Don’t come after me. Not this time._

And wonders of wonders, Steve didn’t. Those doctors must have done something else, not just made Steve’s body bigger, but his brain, too. Bucky was glad to realize he wasn’t the only one who knew Steve needed some help in that department. As much as he hated them for turning Steve into a weapon, for making a show of him, for sending him straight to the front—exactly what Bucky had hoped _wouldn’t_ happen—he couldn’t fault them for everything. Not for making Steve breathe better, live a lot easier. But what was the point if he’d just get himself shot to pieces? Bucky didn’t think Steve could get up from a bullet as easy as a punch, no matter what Steve believed. Believing wasn’t everything.

Steve never shied away from protecting others, but he’d always needed someone to watch his back. Maybe Steve had finally smartened up enough to take care of himself. If Bucky couldn’t do it, at least Steve had other people, good people, who’d protect him, too. Knowing that was a small price to pay for losing him.

He’d been right in the end. He didn’t feel a thing, not when everything that ever mattered to him was up there, safe and sound.

_2._

The tent flap rustled, but Bucky didn’t need to turn around to know who had come in.

“Thought you’d be turning in early,” Bucky said, not bothering to sit up from his bedroll. “Busy day with Miss Carter tomorrow.”

“That’s _Agent_ Carter to you,” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged and took another swig from the bottle he’d swiped from Morita.

“Why won’t you look at me anymore?” Steve said, after a pause.

Bucky snorted. “Do I need a reason to not look at your ugly mug?” he said, finally sitting up to glare, but he wasn’t prepared to see Steve staring at him like—like—

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bucky said, halfway to his feet before he knew he was moving.

Steve blinked, but that didn’t clear that stupid look on his face. “Look at you like what?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but he didn’t have the words. Not for this. Never for this.

“Is it—” Steve said, and Bucky was almost glad Steve was an idiot like him too most times, “—is it the way you look at me sometimes?”

And goddamn him if Bucky ever looked at Steve like that. “I do _not_ ,” Bucky snapped.

“Because I like it. Always did,” Steve said, plowing on, and he never did know well enough to let alone, did he? Always getting into fights he couldn’t finish until Bucky saved his ass for him, except for the one fight they never had but one Bucky was always ready to brawl for if it came down to it. And it looked like that time was now. Bucky felt his hands curl into fists, and maybe he’d never hit Steve, not for real, but he’d sure as hell push Steve out of the way to run.

“Are you going to punch me if I kiss you?” Steve asked.

Bucky froze. Steve could withstand almost anything—he’d always been tougher than he looked, no matter what anyone else thought. His body was strong enough to match his heart now, but Bucky knew him. Steve was still breakable, and for all his strength and courage, a word from Bucky would break him into ten thousand pieces. So Bucky never said those words, never thought them, not really, except when he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. And when he did, he’d always wanted to stuff his fist down his throat to stop them from coming out, but here Steve was looking like all the words Bucky ever felt.

“Don’t.”

Steve laughed strangely, a sound that grated on Bucky’s ears. “You think I wasn’t ruined for anyone else the minute I set eyes on you again? That they could change any part of how I felt about you? You’re wrong.”

 _You’re the one who’s all wrong,_ Bucky wanted to say. He’d always told the bullies to pick on someone their own size. Steve was bigger than he was now, but Bucky couldn’t ever fight back, and maybe Steve knew it. Bucky couldn’t be one of those bullies that Steve hated. Steve taught him— _made_ him—better. So Bucky didn’t move.

“Bucky,” Steve said in a way he’d never heard and in a way he’d heard a million times before. Bucky tried to push him away, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Then Steve was pulling him closer and touching his lips to Bucky’s, and when he pulled away, Bucky felt the world crumbling down around his ears.

_1._

The uniform was itchy and pulled at his shoulders a bit, but Bucky wasn’t about to complain. He looked at himself in the mirror and gave his reflection a grin. He didn’t look half bad. Part of him couldn’t wait to show it to Steve, but he knew better than to show it _off_. Not when Steve looked at Bucky sometimes when he thought Bucky couldn’t see him, the words written on his face: he wanted more than anything to go.

It would be a cold day in hell before that happened if Bucky had anything to say about it. But he didn’t—he didn’t get any say at all. All he could do was go in Steve’s place, and fight for him like he always did. That was where they were different. Steve wanted to fight for the good of everyone and everything, but Bucky had always just fought for Steve. Bucky was just as selfish as the next guy who Steve picked a fight with, but for a different reason. Bucky counted himself lucky that Steve was just too big-hearted and wide-eyed to see it.

It would be hard leaving Steve, but Bucky wasn’t the type to cling. Steve was his own person—Bucky wasn’t one without him. It would be like tearing a piece of himself away, but he’d carry that pain with him as a comfort. If it hurt, it was real.

Bucky knew he wasn’t invincible, but they could put a bullet through his heart and he wouldn’t feel a thing—he’d be leaving it back in Brooklyn. He’d give it his all to make sure Steve would never have to find his way over.

Bucky made himself give his reflection another grin: he would be a good soldier. He tugged his tie straight, set his hat at a rakish angle, and went to look for Steve.

*

He settles down by the riverbank to wait. The sun is setting, turning the water gold, when he finally hears a twig snap behind him. He doesn’t move.

“Bucky?”

He turns around to face him, and flicks his eyes up and down, assessing any lingering injuries. It’s automatic, almost a reflex. It’s a skill they taught him to help eliminate his targets, but he’d already known the basics of how to categorize injuries from someone else. From him. _For_ him.

“Steve,” Bucky says. It’s the first word he’s spoken in days.

Steve takes a step closer. “Hey. Come on home,” he says, and holds out his hand.

Bucky reaches out to take it, feeling the world build up around him.


End file.
